


(keep a window) open for me always

by waveridden



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, M/M, Season: Spring in Hieron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24343027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveridden/pseuds/waveridden
Summary: Maelgwyn scratches at the back of his neck. “Hadrian’s… he’s not cool, he’s my gym teacher, but he emailed me the list of things I’m helping him with and it’s not bad, there’s a whole unit on disc golf and-”“Mael,” Samot says, trying not to sound amused. “I’m not going to be weird about it."Or: Samot hooks up with his son's gym teacher.
Relationships: Hadrian/Samot (Friends at the Table), Maelgwyn & Samot (Friends at the Table), mentioned Fero/Samol
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	(keep a window) open for me always

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halwardpavushatersclub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halwardpavushatersclub/gifts).



> Content warnings: they talk/joke about sex a little bit and there are a couple references to divorce. That's it! Other than that it's just a fun modern AU. Title is from Window by Carly Rae Jepsen.

Maelgwyn says, “You have a parent-teacher conference on Thursday morning.”

Samot nods and makes a noise of agreement. It takes him several seconds to actually process the words, and when he does he looks up with a frown. “School doesn’t start for six weeks.”

“I know.”

“Which teacher is this?”

“Hadrian.” At Samot’s blank look, Maelgwyn sighs. “The phys ed teacher?”

Samot snaps his fingers. “The phys ed teacher,” he repeats, trying to sound like he knew that already. Maelgwyn is going to be the phys ed teacher’s… something. Assistant, or student aide, or one of those slightly condescending roles that they give students to fill up a free period. Samot should probably find out what exactly the position is. Get involved in his son’s life, and all that.

“Yeah,” Maelgwyn says, unfazed by all of Samot’s mental calculus. “He says since he and I are going to be together for the whole year, he should meet you at some point.”

“A smart man,” Samot says, and writes the date on the nearest sheet of paper. Then he turns for the stack of papers next to him and goes digging for his appointment book, because he has already forgotten which sheet of paper he picked. “You said it was Thursday? This week?”

“I’m not going to let you forget,” Maelgwyn mutters. He’s eerily good at keeping track of dates and times, much better than either of his fathers. Samot is pretty sure it’s his way of being rebellious. Maelgwyn scratches at the back of his neck. “Hadrian’s… he’s not cool, he’s my gym teacher, but he emailed me the list of things I’m helping him with and it’s not bad, there’s a whole unit on disc golf and-”

“Mael,” Samot says, trying not to sound amused. “I’m not going to embarrass you.”

For a moment Maelgwyn looks actively murderous. Samot misses the days when he himself was seventeen and could be filled with murderous rage at the drop of a hat. It takes more effort these days.

“I wasn’t worried about you embarrassing me,” Maelgwyn grits out, in a tone of voice that suggests that he was worried about exactly that. “I was worried about him embarrassing me.”

Samot pauses in his digging to raise an eyebrow at Maelgwyn, who stalwartly looks away. “What, by saying you’re the right person for the job? Love, if he doesn’t say that, I’m going to. That’s what parents do.”

Maelgwyn groans and buries his face in his hands. “It doesn’t have to be a whole… thing. He’s just a dorky teacher, that’s all.”

Samot hums and reaches for the notebook again. This time he plucks it out within seconds and flips it open. “What time?”

“Eleven-thirty. Try and be on time?”

“I’ll try,” Samot says, with only the barest intention of actually trying. He scribbles in the notebook:  _ 11:30 meeting dork gym teacher. _

“I’m just there to help him make sure the freshmen can do a twelve-minute mile,” Maelgwyn says. It feels like a warning, but hell if Samot understands what he’s trying to say. “So don’t… be weird about anything.”

“Maelgwyn.” Samot shuts the notebook with a snap. “What is there for me to be weird about?”

#

At precisely 11:37 on Thursday morning, Samot knocks on the open door to a classroom. “Hello,” he says, “sorry to bother, but I’ve gotten turned around. I’m supposed to be meeting my son’s teacher and I can’t for the life of me figure out where to go.”

This is mostly true. Samot doesn’t know where he is, and he forgot to ask Maelgwyn where he was meeting the gym teacher. He is terribly lost. But he has already walked past this classroom four times, and only one of those was because he was lost. The other three were trying to get a better look at the teacher inside.

He’s gratified to see that the teacher - a man with dark skin and broad shoulders and noticeable laugh lines - looks up and smiles in that vague, automatic way that teachers do. His eyes skate up and down Samot’s body before settling on his face, and Samot has to bite down on a grin. That’s a good sign. “Of course. Who are you looking for?”

Samot huffs and leans against the doorframe, popping one hip out. “My son is the aide to the phys ed teacher, and I can’t find the gym.”

“Oh,” the man says, and his smile turns more genuine as he gets to his feet. “You must be Maelgwyn’s father. I’m Hadrian - all the kids call me that or Coach.”

Samot blinks, determined not to look thrown off. He straightens slightly as Hadrian approaches. “Samot,” he says, and takes Hadrian’s offered hand to shake it. He wonders briefly if this is what Maelgwyn meant about not acting weird.

Well, too late to tone it down. He shakes Hadrian’s hand - the man has the most officious gym teacher handshake, Samot wants to laugh at him - and makes sure to trail his fingers along Hadrian’s palm as he pulls away. “Good to meet you,” he says, voice low.

Hadrian clears his throat, eyes widening for a second, but when he speaks he seems unfazed. “I’m sure Maelgwyn already told you, but this meeting is mostly so I can get to know you, just because I’m going to be spending so much time with him this year. Come on in, take a seat.”

Samot trails behind him and perches on one of the desks in the classroom, crossing his ankles delicately in front of him. “I didn’t know gym teachers had classrooms.”

“It’s not mine.” Hadrian waves a hand at one of the walls; on a closer look it’s covered with life science posters. “A friend of mine is on his second honeymoon, so I’m squatting in his classroom while he’s gone. Don’t tell my boss, I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed.”

Samot mimes zipping his lips. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Glad to hear it.” Hadrian leans back against the teacher’s desk, looking for all the world like he’s about to actually start their meeting. Samot tilts his head expectantly, but Hadrian makes a frustrated noise. “I swear I have actual things I wanted to talk about, but-”

“But?” Samot can’t resist arching an eyebrow.

Hadrian doesn’t quite blush, but he gives Samot a distinctly skeptical look. “But it seems I’ve been distracted,” he says, and Samot has to choke back a laugh at how desert-dry it is. “I can’t imagine what could’ve caused that to happen."

Samot taps his chin thoughtfully. Hadrian’s eyes follow the motion, and Samot feels giddy. He’s not always a flirtatious person - or at least, he’s not often flirtatious with intent - and he forgot how much fun this is, the dance back and forth. “You know what sometimes helps me when I’ve forgotten something? Doing something else entirely. I find that it’s refreshing to take my mind off things.”

“Refreshing,” Hadrian repeats skeptically. He shifts where he’s leaning against the desk, and his arms practically ripple, good lord. “What did you have in mind?”

“I can think of a couple things.” Samot leans forward, and Hadrian mimics the motion automatically. “Don’t teachers take lunch breaks? We could always… get out of here.”

“I don’t normally take lunch breaks,” Hadrian says.

It’s such a ludicrous thing, said so casually, that it actually pulls Samot up short for a second. Hadrian blinks at him, and Samot belatedly realizes that he’s lost the rhythm. “There’s a first time for everything?” he tries.

It’s not his best line, but despite that - or maybe because of that, who can say - Hadrian’s smile widens. He stretches a hand to Samot. “You wanted to get out of here?”

“Happily.” Samot takes his hand, but before Hadrian can tug him to standing, he pulls Hadrian’s knuckles to his mouth and brushes a kiss against them. It’s a gesture designed to get Hadrian thinking about fingers and mouths, and judging by the way Hadrian’s breath catches, it works.

Samot smiles and stands. He doesn’t let go of Hadrian’s hand. Hadrian is ever so slightly taller than Samot, and much more broad-shouldered. It would be easy for him to be the biggest presence in the room. But he’s staring transfixed at Samot in a way that makes him feel… wanted. Wanted and warm all over.

He takes a step closer. “We could always just lock the door here.”

Hadrian laughs, startled. “I think my friend would kill me,” he says. “Don’t worry, I have ideas.”

Samot smiles. “Then lead the way,” he says, and Hadrian does, holding Samot’s hand all the way.

#

They don’t actively decide to keep seeing each other. Samot knows that Hadrian has to follow certain boundaries here, and even keeping things casual is toeing the line. Samot means this to be a fun one-time thing, and he thinks Hadrian does too.

Except at the end of the meeting - a pleasant conversation, all told, and Hadrian is definitely a good fit for Maelgwyn - Samot gives him his number, just to have. He knows Hadrian probably has it through the school, but the act of giving it means something. And he wants to give it.

And one thing leads to another, as things often do, and next thing he knows he’s seeing Hadrian a couple times a week. Mostly it’s Hadrian coming over for sex, but there are a few not-quite-dates, going out for lunch and the like. It’s electric and delightful and only the smallest bit awkward.

The only problem is that it’s impossible to follow friends-with-benefit etiquette, because they’re not quite friends. It’s a situation that Samot doesn’t know how to handle - an exciting situation, but still a difficult one, sometimes.

For example:

“Are you dating someone?” Maelgwyn asks.

Samot frowns. “No, I’m not.”

“Are you lying to me?”

He glances at Maelgwyn, staring at him searchingly from the passenger seat. If Samot weren’t driving, he wouldn’t break eye contact, but unfortunately he has to look away. “I’m not lying, and I’m not dating anyone.”

“You’ve been leaving the house a lot more.”

“Maelgwyn, I’m allowed to have a life.”

“Of course you’re allowed to have a life,” Maelgwyn grumbles. “Maybe I just… want to know these things.”

Samot hums thoughtfully. The divorce was hard on Maelgwyn in ways that none of them fully know how to navigate yet. He and Samothes are… amicable, for a given definition of the word, but somewhat amicable is a massive shift from the relationship they had when Maelgwyn was a child.

All three of them went to counseling throughout the divorce. The counselor had said in no uncertain terms that treating Maelgwyn like a child would make things worse, and Samot tends to agree. He’s been trying to speak more candidly, answering Maelgwyn’s questions like they’re coming from a friend rather than a child, and Maelgwyn seems much more comfortable asking questions now.

Samot prefers being honest with him. But this situation is… delicate.

“I’ve been seeing someone casually,” he says at last. Maelgwyn makes a noise of disgust, and Samot rolls his eyes. “You shouldn’t ask questions if you’re going to complain when they’re answered.”

“It’s gross,” Maelgwyn complains, but his voice sounds lighter. “I thought you were just going on dates like a normal person.”

“A lot of divorcees look for something casual.”

Maelgwyn makes a horrified noise. “Please don’t-”

“I haven’t had the opportunity to be adventurous in twenty years,” Samot says. Maelgwyn buries his face in his hands with a groan, and Samot grins. “Don’t misunderstand, your father and I-”

“Stop,” Maelgwyn half-shrieks, “stop, I get it, you can-”

Samot pats Maelgwyn’s shoulder. “It’s very sweet of you to ask after my personal life. I promise I will tell you things if they affect you. I didn’t think this did, so I kept it to myself.” When he glances over, Maelgwyn is peeking out between his fingers. “I will spare you the sordid details. And I will let you know if I start seriously dating someone.”

“Deal,” Maelgwyn says. “But you have to promise not to talk to me about sex, other than the normal informative way that fathers do.”

“Promise,” Samot says cheerfully. “Although some say that the best information is experience.”

Maelgwyn shudders. “Samothes wouldn’t do this,” he mutters balefully.

Samot scoffs. “Yes he would. He’d just wait until you’re eighteen first.”

“Gross,” Maelgwyn says with finality, and turns to stare out the window.

Samot rubs his shoulder comfortingly. “One day you’re going to have children, and then you’ll understand why I do this.”

“Absolutely not,” Maelgwyn mutters. Samot goes to pull his hand away, but Maelgwyn makes a quiet noise of protest, so he settles it back on his shoulder and starts rubbing gentle circles into it. “Oh, and Grandpa invited us to that teachers’ barbecue he does.”

Samot goes quiet for a moment, absorbing this. Samol is the principal of the high school, and he throws a massive barbecue for the teachers at the beginning of the school year. Samot has only gone once or twice, and it always kind of felt like crashing a party for someone else, but this time might be different. “Did you want to go?”

Maelgwyn looks at him, surprised. “Did you?”

“If you want to. When is it?”

“Next Wednesday.”

“Could you get my-”

“Don’t write it down, I’ll remind you.”

Samot smiles in relief. “Thank you, love.”

“I don’t understand why you can’t remember when things are,” Maelgwyn informs him. They’ve been having this exact conversation since he was eleven years old. He’s constantly exasperated, but he still keeps track of things for his poor scatterbrained fathers. Samot loves him more than words could ever say.

“I don’t understand how you can remember,” Samot responds loftily. Maelgwyn groans and turns away again, and Samot politely pretends not to notice that he’s grinning.

#

Hadrian doesn’t ever spend the night.

Which is complicated, because - it’s almost certainly a good idea, isn’t it? He only comes over on nights that Maelgwyn is gone, staying with a friend or with Samothes. But it’s impossible to guarantee that Maelgwyn won’t come home and find them. And by unspoken agreement, they don’t want him to find out. Not yet.

And besides, it’s not like this is serious. Samot’s not ready for serious. Samot was married and deliriously in love for over twenty years, and now he’s a divorcee, which is much sexier on TV than it is to live through. He doesn’t want serious, and he certainly doesn’t want complicated.

Except sometimes, Hadrian comes over, and Samot pours them both some wine and they just talk. Hadrian talks about his son - starting second grade next week and proud of it - and Samot mostly talks about Maelgwyn. They sit on the couch together drinking wine until Samot’s skin starts itching from the intimacy of it all.

And then they’ll have sex, certainly, and it’s pretty fantastic. Hadrian is beautiful, and he’s unfairly good in bed. Samot would be jealous were he not also beautiful and good in bed. It’s fun, and they have fun, and Hadrian always kisses him on the forehead and cleans up and leaves. Which is the right thing to do, because it’s not serious, and Maelgwyn could come home early, and there’s no reason for him to stay.

Samot still thinks about asking him to see. Just to see what he would do. And maybe, perhaps, because he’d like Hadrian to stay.

#

“Please tell me those aren’t vegan steaks,” Samot says, horrified.

“I can cook vegan steaks if I damn well please,” Samol grumbles.

Samot pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just because you’re dating a vegan-”

“It’s respectful.”

“Would you ever eat a vegan steak?”

Samot gives him a look like he’s grown a second head. “It ain’t about the steaks I’m eating, it’s about everyone eating. And if that means I have this-” he gestures at the corner of the grill cordoned off by tinfoil, where some ugly grey steaks are currently turning into an even uglier shade of grey - “then I will sacrifice some of my grill real estate for this.”

Samot nods, absorbing this. “What did Fero have to convince you?”

“What two men do in the comfort of their own home is nobody’s business but their own,” Samol says placidly. “He’s very persuasive.”

Samot makes a face. “Point taken, even though I think you need to get different steaks next time. What do you need help with?”

Samol points the tongs he’s using for the vegan steaks in Samot’s face. They’re very long, and they’re covered with a liquid that Samot honestly doesn’t want to think too much about. “You are a guest at my party. You can help me by enjoying yourself.”

“And?”

“And by mixing up some more of the rub for the ribs.”

“Of course.” Samot kisses Samol on the cheek, ignoring the swipe that Samol takes at him with the tongs, and heads into the house.

Samol’s estate is massive: the house is fairly large, and the yard is even bigger. It’s the perfect spot for a party like this. There are dozens of teachers milling around, with smaller groups of teenagers and children. Maelgwyn is somewhere in the house with friends of his. Samot saw Samothes earlier, but only for a flash of a moment, and it’s honestly easy to avoid him at a party this big.

He makes his way to the kitchen, a room that he knows well. He’s made this exact dry rub for dozens of parties before. He could probably make it in his sleep.

When he’s halfway through gathering the ingredients, he feels a tug on the hem of his dress. “Excuse me,” a very polite voice says.

Samot looks down. The child in front of him is young, probably early elementary school, with dark skin and unrumpled clothing. He seems tall for his age, but Samot has never been good at judging these things.

“Hello,” Samot says.

The boy gazes up, wide-eyed. “Are you cooking? I want to learn how to cook one day. My mom and dad both say it’s hard, but I bet I could do a good job. Is it hard to cook?”

Samot has to stifle a laugh. “It depends on what you’re cooking,” he explains. “I can’t cook very many things, but right now I’m mixing spices to go on the ribs before they get grilled. Would you like to watch?”

The boy nods frantically. Samot pats an empty space on the counter and the boy climbs up, leaning over to get a better look at Samot’s bowl. “How do you pick the spices?”

“It depends on what you want your food to taste like. There are spices that’ll make it spicier, or more bitter, or saltier.”

“I don’t want the bitter spices,” he announces. “Which ones are they? I wanna get rid of them.”

Samot smiles. “Well, this particular recipe has all different kinds of spices. I have to put them in, because my father asked me to, but if you want you can smell them and see which ones you like. Does that sound good?”

“Yes,” the boy says decisively. And then, shyer, “Please.”

So Samot starts making the rub. It’s a slower process than normal because he’s taking the time to explain every step of the process. The boy asks questions about everything: why the spices are different colors, why some are herbs and some are spices, why things taste certain ways. He decides that he likes paprika and garlic powder, but not thyme, and onion powder makes him sneeze.

“Now,” Samot says once all the spices are in the bowl, “are you ready for the most important ingredient?”

The boy’s eyes go very round. “Yes,” he whispers solemnly.

Samot can’t help but smile. Lord, but he misses being around children this age sometimes. Maybe he should find this boy’s parents and offer to babysit. “It’s not coming from the spice cabinet.”

“It’s not?”

“No, it’s not.” Samot reaches across the counter and pulls over the container of brown sugar. “This is going to bring it all together.”

“Cool!” He claps his hands together, and then his eyes slide off Samot, towards someone behind him. “Aunt Hella! He’s putting sugar in the spices for the ribs! You can put brown sugar in it!”

“Sugar?” a voice repeats. Samot turns as a tall woman with red braids piled in a bun moves to stand by the boy on the counter. She gives Samot an unreadable look, which he can’t blame her for, but as soon as her focus switches to the boy she becomes more playful. “Are you sure you didn’t ask him to put sugar in?”

“Nope!” the boy says cheerfully. “He said at the beginning he was gonna make what he wanted, and if he did what I wanted it would have more garlic and more-” he scrunches up his face in concentration and says, with the careful determination of children, “o-re-ga-no.” His eyes flit to Samot, who nods in approval, and then back to Hella. “And also I didn’t know you could put sugar in spicy things, and if I knew that I would’ve asked him to do it at the beginning and not at the end.”

“He’s been a great audience,” Samot says reassuringly as he measures out the brown sugar. “Very attentive. Couldn’t have asked for better.”

Hella’s mouth quirks up into a smile. “Well, good.” She turns to the boy. “Alright, squirt, your dad’s looking for you. He wants to make sure you eat a real dinner, let’s go get some food in you.”

“But Aunt Hella,” the boy pleads. “I was going to ask if I could help mix it!”

Hella’s eyes cut over to Samot, who shrugs. “It’ll take three minutes. He’s welcome to it.”

She nods her approval, so Samot slides the bowl over and picks up a fork. “You want it to all look the same. So-” he swirls some of the spices together before handing the fork over. “See how it doesn’t look like ten different things anymore? That’s what you want.”

He nods and starts mixing the spices, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. He’s surprisingly methodical about it, taking great care to break up the lumps of brown sugar as he goes. Samot is far more endeared to this child than he intended.

“Hella,” a voice calls from another room. Samot startles without meaning to. “Did you find Ben?”

“Yeah, I’ve got him,” Hella calls back. She lifts an arm and waves. “Your kid’s a pro chef now.”

Samot glances back at Benjamin. The resemblance is obvious now that he knows about it - not even in his face but in the way he’s sitting, the intense focus on the bowl. And then, when he turns around, Hadrian is standing next to Hella, heads bent together and whispering. Hadrian stops when he notices Samot looking at him. “Uh. Hi.”

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt.” Samot leans back against the counter, trying to act like he’s not just as surprised as Hadrian. “I’m just here to mix seasonings.”

“There’s brown sugar in this,” Benjamin informs Hadrian, not pausing in his stirring. “I think that next time you make dinner, you should put brown sugar in it, and that’ll bring it all together.”

“I think it depends on the dinner I’m making,” Hadrian says. Benjamin glances up and pouts, and Hadrian visibly wavers. “Come on, do you think brown sugar would taste good in mac and cheese?”

“Yes,” Benjamin says, and then looks at Samot. “Would it?”

“It depends on the cheese.”

Benjamin looks back to Hadrian. “He says it depends on the cheese.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Hadrian says. Hella stifles a laugh in her palm. “You ready for dinner?”

He nods and pushes the bowl back to Samot, looking very solemn. “I think I did most of the mixing.”

“Thank you.” Samot takes the bowl and looks down. It’s better than he was expecting. “You did a good job with this, Benjamin. Thank you for being my assistant.”

He lights up. “Thank you for letting me help,” he chirps, and turns to Hadrian, practically glowing. “Can I help cook at home now?”

“We’ll figure something out,” Hadrian says, which Samot knows is as good as a yes. “Hella, do you want to help Benjamin get some food? I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Of course,” Hella says, and gives him a knowing look. “I’ll let you two… talk.”

“Hella,” Hadrian says exasperatedly, but there’s so much clear love behind it that Samot finds himself reeling. “C’mon.”

Hella lifts her hands in a gesture of surrender, but she’s still grinning. “Point taken, you prude.” She turns to Benjamin. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Benjamin says, and flings himself off the counter directly into Hella’s arms. She catches him easily and bounces him a couple times, and he giggles. “Aunt Hella, I’m hungry.”

“That’s because you kept thinking about food instead of eating it. Let’s go get some ribs.” She gives Samot one last once-over, turns to Hadrian, and nods deliberately. Hadrian rolls his eyes, and she smiles and shoulder-checks him as she carries Benjamin out of the kitchen.

Hadrian turns to wave at Benjamin, then looks back at Samot. “Okay, I have to know. Was he actually helping you?”

“Oh, yes.” Samot picks up the bowl and starts absently mashing the remaining clumps of brown sugar. “He paid a lot of attention, he was lovely.”

“Good.” Hadrian smiles, and Samot feels his heart flutter. Damn. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Samol is my father.” He smiles at the look of surprise on Hadrian’s face. “He adopted me when I was a teenager. I’m really just here because he can’t cook everything by himself anymore.”

“So that’s really going on the ribs?”

“It is.”

“Benjamin will be excited.”

Samot nods, going quiet for a moment. There are any number of casual things he could say here - jokes about things getting spicy, complimenting Hadrian or Benjamin - but he finds that he doesn’t want to say any of those things. He knows exactly what he wants to say. “I know a few other recipes that kids his age can help with. I’d be happy to teach him sometime.”

Hadrian blinks. “Really?” he says, and it’s clear he’s not just asking about the cooking.

“Really,” Samot affirms, and Hadrian smiles at him. It’s a slow burn of a smile, warm and gradual and incandescent. Samot can’t believe he ever wanted this to be casual. “If you’d have me.”

“Of course,” Hadrian says emphatically. “I actually do need to make sure Hella’s not just feeding my kid brownies and pasta salad, but we should-”

Samot smiles. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Hadrian agrees. He looks so happy, so peaceful, that Samot can’t help himself: he leans in and kisses Hadrian’s mouth, just once, just briefly. He pulls away, and Hadrian smiles. “We’ll talk?”

“We’ll talk. I’ll find you around,” Samot promises. Hadrian nods and turns to leave. Samot catches him lifting a hand to touch his mouth, and Samot grins. He forgot how electric this all feels. He forgot how  _ good _ it is.

#

At the end of the night, Samot finds Maelgwyn lying in the front yard, looking up at the sky. “Mind if I join you?” he asks, and waits for Maelgwyn’s nod before lying down next to him, not quite parallel but still side by side. “We can head out whenever you’d like, but I’m sure Samol would be happy to have us if you wanted to stay the night.”

Maelgwyn nods again and points up at a star. “What’s that one?”

Samot follows where he’s pointing as best he can. “That’s Altair. It’s the head of Aquila, see?” He takes Maelgwyn’s hand and gently traces the outline of the constellation. “It’s an eagle.”

“That seems like a stretch.”

“Every constellation is a stretch.”

Maelgwyn makes a quiet noise. “I saw you talking to Hadrian earlier.”

“Ah,” Samot says. He’d spent some time with Hadrian and Benjamin after the kitchen, but most of that had been Benjamin asking about cooking. Samot is going to have to brush up on his kid-friendly recipes. But something tells him that’s not what Maelgwyn saw. “Do you have questions?”

“Is that why you wouldn’t tell me who you were seeing?”

“I didn’t tell you because I’m entitled to my privacy if I want it. But yes, that was a part of it.”

“Is it serious?”

“I would like it to be,” Samot says. It’s strange and vulnerable to say it out loud. “Would that put you in an uncomfortable position?”

“I don’t know. Are you going to be weird about it?”

“Potentially, yes.”

“Fine,” Maelgwyn sighs. He doesn’t sound upset. “He’s… nice.”

Samot smiles. “Yes, he is.”

“And if he’s ever not nice to you, I can ruin his job.”

“Maelgwyn,” Samot admonishes gently. Maelgwyn looks chastised for a moment before he continues, “I already know that. You’re my revenge plan if I need it.”

Maelgwyn laughs, a quiet, gentle noise in the dark of the night. “Can you ask Grandpa if we can stay the night?”

“Darling, I don’t even have to ask. I can just tell him we’re going to bed.”

He nods and doesn’t say anything for a while. Samot takes the opportunity to relax, going boneless in the grass. It’s been a hard path to this point, full of trouble and pain and careful work mending things. It’s good to have these moments. It’s good to remember that it’s worth it.

Finally, Maelgwyn lifts his hand to point at another. “What’s that one?”

Samot cranes his neck and squints. “I have no idea.”

“When I was a kid you knew every star’s name.”

“When you were a kid I would make up names. You were too young to look them up and find out that I was lying.”

Maelgwyn tilts his head back and laughs out loud. Samot closes his eyes and grins at the sound.

#

At exactly 1:00 on Saturday, Samot walks into the cafe. It’s a small place, a cute little South American bistro that Hadrian had suggested. Samot had never even heard of the place, but he supposes that the place isn’t what matters.

He’s not nervous. It would be ridiculous to be nervous. They’ve already slept together, and they already know each other’s kids. There’s nothing else to possibly worry about. But there’s still something tense swirling in his stomach, a strange fluttering anxiety that he can’t shake. Or perhaps he’s excited. Sometimes it’s impossible to say the difference.

Hadrian’s already at a table, craning his neck towards the door. He waves at Samot as soon as he walks in, and Samot smiles back at him in relief, and the tension in his stomach settles into bright, clear joy.

No, he has nothing to be nervous about.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on Tumblr/Twitter @waveridden!


End file.
